


I Saw Your Face and Hands (Covered in Sun)

by aperfectpirouette



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, DameRey, F/M, Falling In Love, Growing Pains, Growing Up, Here be tropes, POV, Poe Dameron Hurts So Prettily, Soulmates, Started as a Drabble Now We Here, That's Not How The Force Works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23794969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aperfectpirouette/pseuds/aperfectpirouette
Summary: (AKA: The Damerey soulmates AU that no one asked for.)The week before she dies, Shara Bey cuddles with her son in the speckled shadows of the Force tree and tells him about stardust. Of all the stories that make up Yavin IV - the tales of ancient Massassi warriors, the myths of all of Yavin Prime’s moons, heroic war anecdotes - apparently this one silly story about stardust and soulmates was her favorite.“If you’re lucky, Poe, you’ll find the person who glows just like you.”
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Rey
Comments: 34
Kudos: 138





	I Saw Your Face and Hands (Covered in Sun)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from “Don’t Take the Money” by Bleachers.
> 
> This started as (and was originally meant to be) a one-scene drabble - a simple offering to the new-to-me Damerey fanfic community that has been keeping me sane in this time of corona. Slowly, the humble drabble grew into this monster. Virtual cookies to anyone who can correctly guess which scene started it all. 
> 
> There is a slight trigger warning for the fourth “flashback” section; there’s a non-graphic allusion to self harm. The section begins “Rapier Squadron is piled in Poe’s bunk on the Echo of Hope…”
> 
> I hope you enjoy the fic!

**_blemish, n._ **

_The slight acne scars. The penny-sized, penny-shaped birth-mark right above your knee. The dot below your shoulder that must have been from when you had chicken pox in third grade. The scratch on your neck - did I do that?_

_This brief transcript of moments, written on the body, is so deeply satisfying to read._

-David Levithan, _The Lover’s Dictionary_ (2011)

**xXx**

“You’re blaming the crash on a _monkey_?” Rey’s amusement bubbles out of her in peals of laughter that she’s trying to choke down in order to not wake anyone else on the _Falcon._

It’s two weeks after Crait and the Resistance is still flying around the galaxy, looking for somewhere safe to regroup. Poe Dameron spends his days atoning for all of the deaths he feels responsible for by being there for everyone. He spends time reading star maps with Leia and Kaydel. He sits with Finn and waits for Rose to wake up (he’ll be _damned_ if he has both Tico sisters’ deaths on his hands). He apologizes to everyone individually and is _shocked_ that he doesn’t get punched or cussed out for his bad calls, but hugged and comforted instead. 

He leads the fueling stops and food gathering missions while they briefly touch-down on other planets. He organizes sabbac and charades to help keep morale up. He installs a projector in BB-8 so they can all watch holos to help pass the time. He tries to be everything to everyone. He owes them.

So it always surprises him that late at night, when he and Rey take their volunteer overnight shift flying the _Falcon_ (and yes, he does have to pinch himself when he realizes that he gets to fly the kriffing _Millennium Falcon_ ), he doesn’t feel obligated to be or do anything special for her.

“I’m telling you, Sunshine, that woolamander distracted me.” He basks in Rey’s smile. They had to work for this easy banter. That first night on the _Falcon_ was awkward; they’d just met earlier that day, and everything they knew about each other came from the galaxy’s two biggest gossips, Finn and BB-8, who greatly exaggerated their respective heroics. 

They had to work past their facades: Poe Dameron definitely _wasn’t_ the courageous “best pilot in the Resistance”, and Rey wasn’t an untouchable Jedi; they were each more than that. They were two broken people, trying their best. It wasn’t lost on Poe, though, that his best efforts got people killed while her best intentions meant that she saw the good in people who didn’t deserve it.

Poe Dameron promised himself that first night, that he’d always work to deserve it.

Over the console of the _Millennium Falcon_ , they healed each other. They shared their failures: his mutiny and her misguided attempt to save Ben Solo’s soul. They opened up about the torture, he apologized for sending BB-8 and the First Order right to her, she assured him that none of it was his fault. They helped each other through the nightmares.

Eventually, they told each other happier, more personal stories. She gifted him with shy descriptions of the flight sim she rebuilt, rare desert flowers, and some of the better characters that blew through Niima Outpost. In turn, he opened up about his parents, the brief period he spent spice running, and the jungle moon that raised him.

“And then you crashed a speeder into your mother’s Force Tree.” Rey feigns a look of disappointment as she looks over at him, shaking her head. 

He pushes aside the ping of guilt that he’ll always feel about that accident and instead plays along, putting an exaggerated indignance in his voice as he assures her of the tree’s health, “Hey, I did heal it!”

“Of course you did,” she says with a quiet smile on her face, all traces of the earlier playful smirk gone in deference to her absolute sincerity. Rey says it like she trusts him. “Poe Dameron, guardian of the Force. No wonder it likes you so much.”

Countless rebukes dance on the tip of his tongue; if the Force liked him, then why did he spend so much of his life mourning people? Rey seems to sense his argument because she reaches across the console and grabs his hand. “Poe. You have to know that the Force loves you. You practically glow with it.”

There’s nothing to say to that, so he just squeezes her hand and lets the moment linger. He gently strokes his thumb across her knuckles, across the wraps that wind around her hands and arms. He looks down at their joined hands and recognizes some of the scars and marks he sees on her fingertips: little bites from various tools and small accidental burns from BB-8’s too-enthusiastic attempts at giving them a thumbs-up. He smiles when he feels her tighten her grip, anchoring each of them to this moment.

After a while, he breaks their comfortable silence, gently squeezing her hand again as he says, “When this war is over, Sunshine, remind me to take you home and introduce you to my mom’s tree.” 

**xXx**

The week before she dies, Shara Bey cuddles with her son in the speckled shadows of the Force tree and tells him about stardust. Of all the stories that make up Yavin IV - the tales of ancient Massassi warriors, the myths of all of Yavin Prime’s moons, heroic war anecdotes - apparently this one silly story about stardust and soulmates was her favorite. 

There are so many things Poe Dameron _doesn’t_ remember about his mom. He knows that she sang to him, but his memory can’t pin down what her voice sounded like. Kes tells him that she had the brightest smile on Yavin, but Poe doesn’t remember it, can’t recognize it in his own once-easy smile. He knows that she danced in the moonlight, has seen holographs of her holding him in the yard with twin smiles lighting their faces, but - even when he yearns for it in lonely moments - he can’t conjure the memory. 

What Poe Dameron _does_ remember is this last happy memory he has of her: sitting in his mom’s lap at sunset, letting her play with his hair, and silently begging the Force not to take her away while she tells him about soulmate marks.

Shara always spoke about the stars as if they were sacred. She told him about the components that make up stars, and that star stuff was duplicated in people. According to Shara’s stardust story, every living being in the galaxy had a soulmate, someone whose stardust composition matched their own. Stardust that used to be together before infinite explosions created the galaxy and sent corresponding pieces far and away, left to travel the galaxy and seek its partner.

“If you’re lucky, Poe, you’ll find the person who glows just like you.” Years later, Poe couldn’t tell you what his mother’s voice sounded like; but he will always remember that something in her tone _sparkled_ when she talked of the stars and the Force and the interplay of the galaxy.

“But what if I never find them?” Eight-year-old Poe, who was getting ready to lose his mom, couldn’t wrap his brain around the idea of _finding_ someone. 

“You’ll still be happy, mijo. Soulmate or not, you’re going to love a lot of people in your life. I’m sure of it. Besides, you’ll find them, I know it. The Force will help you out.” 

There’s something _knowing_ in his mama’s voice that catches his attention. He turns around in her lap, and looks at her (years later, when Poe dreams about this memory, he can _almostbutnotquite_ fully form his mom’s face). That’s the other thing about Shara Bey, she believed in the Force, unfailingly. 

Reading the skepticism on her son’s face, Shara laughed, “Silly boy, you can be sensitive to the Force without being able to wield it. It’s in everything, mijo. Sure, _using_ the Force is a rare blessing, one that involves a lot of training. But there are far more of us who can _hear_ it. If your soulmate is blessed with the Force like you are, the Force will give you clues to find each other.” 

“What clues?” When he’s older and allows himself to sink into this last memory of his mom, Poe always wishes that his younger self asked her a different question. He should have asked if she and his father were soulmates. Should have asked how she was so certain he’d be sensitive to the Force. Should have asked her so many other things - he’d figure out the markings eventually - but there are so many other mysteries that died with her.

Shara smiles and strokes her fingertips across her son’s arms as she answers, spending a few moments on the bruise that formed when he fell off of a low-branch of a tree he was climbing earlier that week. “Twin markings, mijo. Any scars, scratches, or marks that appear on your skin will be mirrored on your soulmate. So be careful when you’re racing around in the jungle, okay?”

“Or,” Poe argues, with a grin, his playfulness blooming at this new information, “I could _not_ be careful. It will be easier to find my soulmate if we have lots of matching scrapes.” 

Shara laughs. And that’s the last good memory he has of his mom. 

For years, while he and his dad are heartbroken, Poe thinks of his mom’s last story as just that - a story. A fond memory and a fairytale. He doesn’t believe in soulmates or the Force.

But when he’s fifteen, Poe and his dad watch as burns and blisters appear on his palms unprompted. The two Dameron boys are sitting at their dinner table, Kes teaching Poe how to play sabbac when Poe drops his cards and stares at his palms with wide eyes. He pokes at the blisters, it _should_ hurt, should burn like hell, but he doesn’t feel any pain, just a slight sparkling warmth.

Before Poe’s brain can catch up on what this could mean, Kes just looks straight at him and says, “Well, mijo, looks like your mom was right.”

**xXx**

There’s knowing glint in Leia’s eyes when she assigns him and Rey neighboring huts on Ajan Kloss. In total, they spent nearly four weeks planet-hopping on the _Millennium Falcon_ before planting roots on the perpetually-damp, Outer Rim moon, and in that time, he and Rey have grown close. Judging by the smirk on Leia’s face, confused looks from Finn, and suggestive winks from Kaydel - people have noticed.

But here’s the thing, contrary to recent mistakes, Poe Dameron isn’t a _complete_ idiot. He definitely feels something for Rey, he can’t deny it: she’s capable, kind, beautiful, and sees the good in everything - even him. But she’s also seven years younger than him and on the path to being a Jedi. He knows the Code, and isn’t going to compromise her. 

So, yes, he likes her. He might even admit to falling in love with her, but he’s not going to do anything about it, housing arrangements be damned.

“So,” Rey’s voice startles him from his thoughts as she walks to where he’s standing between their huts. “I guess we’re going to have to find some other excuse for avoiding our nightmares now that we can’t claim to be flying the _Falcon_?”

He chuckles as he answers, pretending to be wiping down BB-8 to avoid making eye contact so soon after thinking about her. “What do you think, Sunshine? Night watch? I think I’ve been tasked with setting our watch rotation, you play your cards right, the overnight shift can be yours.” 

“Do I have _any_ competition for that shift?” There’s a sparkling laughter in her voice when she asks. “You tell me who else wants this awful watch, I can take them.” He looks up at her as she playfully swings around her staff, jokingly suggesting she’d fight for the shift that no one else has ever asked for. 

When his eyes catch her face, he immediately stands up in concern. “Hey, Sunshine,” The seriousness in his voice gets her attention. “Did you go walking around in the jungle?” 

“Yeah,” she says hesitantly. “I wanted to see all the plants. Why?”

“Nothing,” he quickly assures her. “Just looks like you had a brush with a slightly poisonous plant. Your neck is a little red and blistery. Let me grab my MedKit and we’ll get you squared away before it gets any worse.”

Rather than wait outside, which is what he intended, Rey and BB-8 follow him into his hut. She carefully sits on the bench in the corner and chats with his droid while he rifles through his still-packed bag. In the back of his mind, he passively hopes that neither Leia or Chewie saw her follow him in here. 

He finds the kit and the tube of gel that would calm any bio-rashes. He makes a mental note to always have some of the gel on-hand. Rey, who grew up in a barren desert, is probably going to be more sensitive to all of the vines and plants that grow on Ajan Kloss than anyone else. 

As she hands the tube back to him after following his instructions on how much to apply, he notices that her eyebrows knit in confusion and concern. “Looks like you might need some, too” she says as she points in the general direction of her neck.

At that, she walks out his hut, pausing briefly at the door to throw a small smile and gentle “Thanks, Poe” at him before walking away. 

Once she leaves, Poe scowls at his reflection in a tiny mirror he pulled from his pack. Rey was right, he _does_ have a rash on his neck. _Odd_ , he thinks. He grew up on a damp jungle moon not dissimilar to Ajan Kloss; he’s never had a reaction to plant life before.

**xXx**

Poe jolts awake to a slight burning sensation at his hip. Between the weird almost-pain and the nightmare, it takes him a minute to figure out where he is. He takes deep breaths, tries to calm his heart rate, and lists facts until the nightmare fades a little. He’s not being shot at (anymore). He didn’t witness Shara Bey die in an air fight while protecting him. He didn’t kill his mom, that karking illness did. He’s in bed on Kijimi. The weight in the bed next to him is Zorii Bliss. He’s fine.

His hip still feels weird, though - a whisper of burning pain. He gives up on getting any more sleep and forces himself out of bed, away from Zorii, mentally repeating that he’s fine as he leaves the room.

He’s fine, he tells himself to drown out the nightmare-induced guilt. Sure, he screamed at his war hero dad, stole his mom’s A-Wing, and left home in a fit of rage a year ago; that happened, but he’s fine. Yeah, he was looking for any excuse to leave the koyo farm, and latched onto the woman who gave him an option to fly the galaxy; he’s an asshole, but he’s fine. Yes, he thought he was in love with Zorii, thought he knew everything; he was wrong, and he is paying dearly for it, but he’s fine. 

He’s a criminal. He can’t sleep. He’s a disaster. But he’s fine. He chose this. He’s _fine_. 

Once he closes the door to the bathroom, he takes a deep breath before facing himself in the mirror. He sees what he’s seen for the past year: purple bags under tired eyes, pale skin that constantly hides under a helmet, giant bruise on his ribcage from a tough escape from a blaster fight earlier that day, love bites across his neck because he and Zorii are good at using each other. 

Poe closes his eyes and runs his hands through his hair as he contemplates how, at only nineteen years old, he already feels so kriffing tired, he already messed up so bad. All he ever wanted to do was leave the farm, maybe help people. But instead, he’s bouncing back and forth between Thieve’s Corner and Outer Rim planets, smuggling spice to people who are growing more and more desperate as this so-called First Order’s influence on the poorer planets grows. 

He opens his eyes and looks at himself again. He’s in the middle of contemplating the meaning of _desperate_ when that weird sparkling feeling on his hip brings him back to reality. _Right_ , he thinks. 

He’s expecting a bruise. Poe Dameron has known about his so-called soulmate for four years, and in that time, countless bruises and cuts would bloom on his skin. Zorii thinks it’s “quaint” that someone out there is paired with him. Poe is just increasingly annoyed. To be fair, “annoyed” is his baseline emotion these days. 

That annoyance dissolves into something like panic when he sees that the mark on his hip isn’t a bruise. Not a cut, scratch, sunburn, or anything else he’s come to associate with having a soulmate. 

It’s a _brand_. A circle of angry, raised skin with characters from a language he doesn’t recognize written through it. 

Poe’s heart starts racing. And he immediately starts mentally apologizing to this faceless soulmate who clearly wasn’t marking both of them with cuts, bruises, and burns just for the hell of it. He’d thought his soulmate was an adrenaline junkie, or maybe a klutz, but the truth was so much worse.

He scrambles through the apartment, throwing on clothes and a pair of boots, thinking. _He has to do something_. He’s struck with an idea when he sees the ink stylus next to his comlink. He grabs it and quickly scrawls on his left arm, something harmless and easy, hoping his soulmate can read Aurebesh. _Hi there._

 _Hi. How’s your rib?_ He expects the response to appear under his initial greeting, but instead it’s scratched into his right forearm, etched with a sharp object rather than written in ink. He mentally catalogs that his soulmate is left-handed and actively refuses to feel guilty about the bruised rib or love bites that she could see.

He also notes that this person, minutes after being branded, is asking about _him_. His soulmate is a better person than he is.

_Not really worried about me. Do you need out? I have a ship & can come get you. _

He finishes getting ready, throwing stuff into a bag and deciding that he was going to go rescue this person and take them - and himself - back to Yavin IV. 

When the answer comes, it breaks his heart a little. _I have to stay here._

 _No you don’t_ , he quickly responds under his previous message on his other arm. _I can break you out, bring you somewhere safe._

He stares at his right arm, waiting for the response. When it comes, he deflates. _I’m ok. I need to stay put. But I do have a plan if things get worse._

Poe exhales all of the air in his lungs, trying not to think about the slavery and markings he’s seen throughout the galaxy. Trying not to mentally return to his earlier musings of desperation. Trying not to picture his soulmate, this person whose star stuff matches his, being trapped.

He grabs a wet rag and wipes off his previous messages, thinking about what to say next. _If you ever need help getting out, please tell me. I will come get you. Anytime._

He sits in the middle of the living room, fully dressed, bag half-packed as he watches the _t_ _hank you_ appear on his arm. One minute ago, he was running on adrenaline, ready to hop into his mom’s A-Wing to save a person he’s never met. He’s trying to find the motivation to redirect that energy into saving himself. He can deserve it, too. Right?

**xXx**

“You know what you are?” Rey taunts him, with a calm grin on her face that he should be afraid of.

“What?” _Too obstinate_ , he remembers Leia calling him once, when he was younger. _Stubborn to the point of ruin_.

“You’re difficult. You’re a difficult man.” And he can do nothing but watch as she saunters away from him. Again.

He shoots a half-glare in Finn’s general direction, beckons BB-8, and storms off to another side of camp where he is absolutely _not_ going to sulk. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knows that she’s right - he _is_ being difficult. The _Millennium Falcon_ is completely on fire and BB does seem fine, but _still_. 

He’s been short-tempered lately, he knows it. Leia has been giving him more and more responsibility in the Resistance. He’s _beyond_ stressed about Kylo and Rey’s apparent Force bond and what that means for her. The weight of all his past failures is crushing him, keeping him up at night, but he won’t let himself seek out Rey’s help anymore. 

He can’t like her, can’t let himself fall for her. So, they drift and their once-easy friendship disappears into the war effort. She trains with Leia, he figures out what the _kark_ he’s doing. She tries to decipher her stolen Jedi texts, he volunteers for dangerous missions. 

They bicker. A _lot_. And it’s not ideal, but it’s something. And _something_ sparkles under their fights, something he refuses to let himself explore. Not when they have a galaxy to save. Not when she can do so much better.

As he fiddles with BB-8, assessing the extent of the damage, he sees the remnants of a message peeking from his rolled up sleeve. _Fly safe._

And there’s that other complication: his soulmate. He sighs at the text, ignoring BB’s curious beeps.

The short message has been there since yesterday, which means she never washed it off. Lately, they’ve been a little distant with each other, too. He hasn’t told anyone about the soulmate situation - he’s not even sure if Leia knows. But whoever this soulmate is, she’s been getting hurt a _lot_ lately, and he still checks in on the bad ones. Yesterday’s conversation started with him simply scrawling _You ok?_ beneath a long scratch on their arm - he’s at least _mostly_ sure this particular injury wasn’t his fault. It’s hard to tell these days.

_Yup, just a little scratched up from some trees._

_Trees?_ He’d written, surprised; last he knew, she was in a desert. _Finally get sick of sand, sweetheart?_

 _Long story,_ she’d written back. _I’ll tell you in person someday._ He chuckled at that. It’s their go-to when they don’t have the space, time, or vulnerability to share. It happens a lot, they still haven’t told each other their names, or really anything substantial about themselves. Other than whatever random facts they’ve pieced together over a near-decade of notes, she knows that he pilots planes for a military operation, he knows that she’s a scavenger. That’s it.

He always blames the war. There will be time after the First Order is destroyed. He’ll make it a point to meet her once the galaxy is safe. Once he gets over his crush on Rey. Once he’s ready for his soulmate to be disappointed in him, too.

_Desert or not, the offer stands. I’m heading out on a mission tomorrow, don’t know how long I’ll be gone. But it’s still true. You need out, I’ll come get you._

_I know. Don’t worry about me, I’m okay. Fly safe, flyboy._ At the end of the conversation, she’d erased everything but the “Fly safe,” leaving it there for him while he flew the mission. 

He takes a deep breath, looking at the words. He asks BB-8 for the pen he always has stored, and twirls it around while he thinks of something to tell her. Their messages have been increasingly rare as the war heated up, but he likes their conversations, their rhythm they’ve built up over a decade-or-so of writing to each other. He’s never met her, but he likes knowing that there’s someone out there who he hasn’t yet failed. 

_I’m still alive._

**xXx**

_A vintage A-Wing?_

The message is the first thing he sees in the morning. He slept with his right arm flung over his eyes, and when he pulls the arm away to squint at the chrono on his table, he spots the familiar handwriting in red ink. 

Poe’s brain is so slow to come online, and as he blinks at the offending sunlight, he prays for a useful memory to come to him so he can know what the kriff she’s talking about. 

Snippets of the night before come back to him as he burrows further into his bunk. Thankfully, he has the day off, which is why Arana made them all go drinking last night. He doesn’t remember doing anything too offensive: bar hopping, harmless flirting, dancing, and - _oh karking hells._

He springs up, grabbing for the pen he keeps on his nightstand. Since the branding incident, he and his soulmate have stayed in contact with each other periodically. Mostly, they’re checking for signs of life when particularly bad marks appear. Over three years of brief conversations, Poe Dameron adds a few facts to his mental “soulmate file:” he now knows that she is female, knows that she calls them “starmates” instead of soulmates, that she knows several languages, and that she loves flowers.

He doesn’t know what her name is, what planet she’s on, or what she’s up to - and he’s honestly fine with that. There’s a birthmark on his upper thigh that he has made himself dizzy thinking about whether the mark is _his_ or _hers_ and honestly, having that knowledge feels intimate enough for a woman he hasn’t technically met.

 _Kriff!_ He messily writes on his arm. _I didn’t ask, I was so drunk. I’m sorry. You gonna be in trouble? I’ll come get you._

Her response is instantaneous, and he’s sure she’s amused by him. _Relax, laserbrain. I like it. It’s prettier than what was there before._

Last night, on their way back to campus after drinking their way through three blocks of Coruscant, Iolo Arana dragged him into a tattoo parlor. Arana wanted to get a tattoo to commemorate his father, who died while he and Poe were on a mission. 

It was Poe’s godmother Leia Organa’s idea that he learn to “properly” fly. 

After finally leaving Kijimi, spice running, and Zorii, Poe returned to Yavin IV (and to Kes) with his tail between his legs to beg for forgiveness. Kes was far too easy on him. Leia was _not_. She kicked his ass and ultimately gave him the motivation to use his flying talents for good. So, he spent a year on Yavin taking prerequisites, applied to the NRDF Naval Academy, and then befriended Iolo - a series of events that ultimately led to last night’s impulsive decision to get a tattoo of his mom’s A-Wing on his right hip, covering up a certain circular marking that he hated.

He smiles at his soulmate’s message. _Still, sweetheart, I should have asked if it was ok. Seriously, you gonna be alright?_

 _Yeah,_ she writes back, small and precise. _My plan worked and I got away-ish._

Poe walks to his sink to wipe off some of his previous messages, thinking about her response, and gradually getting more panicked. He runs back to his bunk and fills out his arm again, _Your plan for if things got worse? How bad is it? What is “ish?” Seriously, let me come get you._

_“Ish” means that I got away from him, but am still stuck in this desert._

That’s the most information he’s _ever_ gotten about her location. He cheers in his head, mentally narrowing his “Potential Soulmate Location” list to the desert planets. It’s still too many to name, but any information helps.

 _Say the word, and I’m there. Anytime._ He hopes she knows that he means it. If she asks, he’ll go.

_And I wish. But I need to stay here._

It’s the same response she’s been giving for three years. He worries about what that means, worries about her, but it’s not like he can show up and kidnap someone he’s never met before. So he just offers what he can, and accepts her choices. _Ok, sweetheart._

He watches as the red ink disappears from his arm, she’s erasing. Once the ink is gone, he sees spots of ink dot his arm - a nervous tapping he notices that she’ll do when she’s thinking.

 _So,_ she scrawls after a few seconds, clearly wanting to change the subject. _Why an A-Wing?_

He laughs, free and boisterous as he looks down at the new ink on his hip. _I’ll tell you in person someday._

**xXx**

They kriffing did it. It’s the only thought running through his head as he clings onto Rey and Finn after Exegol. 

The last few days, weeks, months - whatever it was - have been a whirlwind. Hunting for the wayfinder, chasing Rey, Leia dying and naming him General, being _certain_ that he was going to die, feeling hope - real hope - when Lando appeared with all of those ships. It was nice to just _breathe_. To be here, in the moment, hugging his friends. 

He’s not naive enough to believe that Palpatine’s death magically eradicated all of the evil and injustice in the galaxy. He knows that they still have work to do: battle insurrections, build a new government, figure out what to do with other Force-users in the galaxy - there’s actually a _lot_ of work to be done.

But right now, here on Ajan Kloss with his favorite people, he just wants to celebrate. The rest of it can wait. 

He doesn’t know how long they stay in that hug for, but eventually, they break away from each other. Poe Dameron shuffles back to his hut, and sheds his flight suit, freezing at the sight of his right arm. Littered there are messages, in different colored inks, with penmanship in various levels of sloppy.

 _Stay safe out there_. That one, he remembers. It’s the last message from when they chatted before Poe jumped into his X-Wing to follow Rey’s location. He’s not familiar with the others.

_Don’t die, okay? I actually would like to meet you someday._

_Alive?_

_Flyboy. Are you okay?_

_Be with me._

_Come on, don’t be dead. You promised. Come find me. Please._

_If you died from the lightning, would I know? Would it mark you?_

_It’s over. Are you there?_

These messages, frantic and messy, push him from crying (which he was with Rey and Finn) to full-on sobbing. He’s alive. The war is (mostly) over, and he’s alive. And, at the end, here were the words, from someone he _knew,_ despite never meeting. Someone from _before_. Before Exegol. Before lightspeed-skipping the _Falcon._ Before BB-8. Before the Academy. 

It’s a heavy thing for Poe Dameron to wrap his brain around: how much he’s changed over the years, but still has this anchor caring about whether or not he lives.

With a shaky hand, working around the sling, he writes two words he never thought he’d say at the end of it. _I’m alive_. He wants to scrawl something about going to her, finding her now that it’s over. But he can’t bring himself to. There’s time later. 

Her response is instant. He watches as all of the messages he missed are erased, a smear of inks left behind. Over the top of the remnant smudges: _Thank the kriffing galaxy._

**xXx**

Rapier Squadron is piled in Poe’s bunk on the _Echo of Hope_ ; finally home from an extended mission during which they dismantled a crime syndicate in the Mirrin Sector. The squadron is celebrating the victory by watching holovids and drinking the Corellian whiskey Poe smuggled onto the cruiser.

Poe blindly reaches out for the bottle when Kare gasps and very carefully asks, “Poe? You alright?” 

He’s confused, he really hasn’t had that much to drink, when he looks at her and realizes that the three other people in his bunk are all staring at his right wrist that’s still in the air. He turns to follow their eyes and immediately pales as he watches another line appear next to some others in different stages of healing.

 _“Fuck!”_ He exclaims under his breath, scrambling over Arana to reach one of his bedside tables. BB-8 beats him to the punch and hands him an ink stylus.

“Commander?” Muran’s voice is scared, and cautious. It takes Poe a second to realize that his squadron must assume the cuts are from him.

“It’s not me,” he states as he sits up and uncaps the pen. “I’m not left-handed.” 

“ _What_ does that have to do with -” Arana starts asking, but immediately trails off as Poe starts to write.

 _STOP!_ He writes in big, bulky letters on the back of his hand, hoping she’d see it there before she’d catch it on the inside of his forearm he usually favors when they talk. _Please. Just stop._

Kare, who is sitting closest to him, gasps again when she realizes what’s _really_ going on here. The two other men still seem confused as Poe stares intently at his right arm. He’s not getting an answer as quickly as he wants, so he swaps the stylus into his left hand, and draws a clumsy _X_ over the cuts on his - on _their_ \- wrist. 

He sighs in relief when, instead of another line, words appear on his right wrist instead. _Go away!_ He hears the three other people in the room react to what they’re seeing, but he’s too focused on the task at hand.

_No. I’m not doing that, sweetheart._

Poe feels Kare put her hand on his shoulder, and he looks up from his arm to make eye contact with his friend. “So, Commander Poe Dameron _isn’t_ the skirt-chaser everyone wants to paint you as, not because you're picky, but because you have a soulmate?”

He’s all adrenaline and fumbles through a possible response to that, “It’s not, we’re not, she’s...I’ve never actually met her.”

Kare, mercifully, saves him from his muttering, “How long have you known about her?”

He’s staring at his hand, willing words to appear as he thinks about his answer. “Uhh, I found out when I was fifteen, so eleven years now? She -”

Poe completely trails off when she finally responds, _Go back to your life, flyboy._

_You’re a pretty big part of my life, actually. So I’m staying. BB-8, my astromech, just brought me a pile of damp rags and an extra marker, so I’m here for the long haul._

He watches as the dots, her nervous tick when she’s thinking, sporadically appear on his wrist. What she finally writes breaks his heart. _You’re a Resistance pilot who saves people. I’m nothing, nobody from nowhere. All alone in this kriffing desert and no one is coming back for me. I’m not enough for anyone._

He’s glad he watched as the letters appeared, because just as soon as they showed up, they disappeared. Smears of red left behind from the colorful stylus she favored. _Just go away. Put on a jacket or something and ignore me._

Next to him, Kare puts her hand on his shoulder. A show of support, or an apology for reading, too. Either way, he’s glad for the comfort.

His breath is shaky as he quickly writes back. _You aren’t alone. Not nothing. Not nobody. You’re worth saving, it’s why I always offer._ He rotates his arm for more real estate. _Sweetheart, I mean it, I always mean it. Tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you. You can stay with me, or I’ll take you anywhere in this karking galaxy so you can see whatever you want. Please._

 _You’re such a hero, flyboy._ He lets out a defeated sigh when she, once again, doesn’t let him save her.

_I’m trying to be, but there’s a stubborn scavenger who won’t let me._

When she doesn’t respond, Poe exhales, leaning over, gripping his hair with his left hand, keeping his right wrist in his sight, checking for messages and more cuts. 

“So,” Arana breaks the silence. “Back when we got tattoos in the Academy, that brand you got covered up, I take it that wasn’t yours?” 

Poe scoffs out a humorless laugh, “Nope.” 

“I always wondered about that,” Arana says, as if a big mystery has just been solved. “I mean, we were so drunk that night, I couldn’t be _certain_ about what I saw. And then you’ve always been so angry when it comes to fighting slavers and drug dealers -”

“I guess now we know why,” Muran adds. 

Poe tears his eyes from his wrist and looks up at his squadron, his family. These people who defected from the NRDF Navy and joined the Resistance with him when Leia asked. These were _his_ people, and he thinks about how grateful he is for them, and wishes - not for the first time - that he could go pick up this girl and fold her into this group so she could know this love, too. “You guys should head out. I’m going to stay up and try to talk to her.” 

Kare squeezes his shoulder and makes a big show of settling back into his bunk where they’re all sitting, “We’re not going anywhere, Poe. You _both_ need support tonight. So. We’re going to turn on some holos and sit here and try not to continue to read you being a _complete and utter sap_ to your soulmate.” 

The rest of the squadron lean into the teasing. Muran adding on as he lightly punches Poe's shoulder, “Seriously, Commander. It’s going to be hard to take your threats of extra laps seriously now that we’ve seen you call someone ‘sweetheart.’”

Arana’s laugh is nefarious, “Oh, Dameron’s _never_ living this down.” His voice switches to serious, though, when he turns and addresses Poe directly. “But honestly, man. You ever need to make an emergency rescue,” he nods to Poe’s wrist, “I’m in.” 

Poe is saved from responding when he notices letters appear on his right arm. _I’d want to go somewhere green. With flowers._

He smiles, thinking of all the planets that fit that description. _We can definitely make that happen, sweetheart._

_I’m sorry. For tonight. I had a really bad day. There was this sandstorm and I was trapped for hours, and I just -_

Poe cuts her off, writing a small “x” with his left hand where her sentence trails off. He switches his stylus to his dominant hand and writes on his now-clean arm, courtesy of BB-8, _Hey. You don’t owe me an explanation. And you don’t have to be sorry. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I’ll listen. Just, do me a favor._

He wipes some tears away as her _What?_ shows up.

_Just be with me. Tonight - or today - whatever it is where you are. We can talk about whatever you want, but stay, okay? Please. I’m here for the long haul. Be with me._

He watches dots, then _Okay_ bloom onto his skin and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Muran’s voice brings him back to his quarters, “You’re doing the right thing, Poe.”

Poe smiles at everyone in the room, “Thanks for being here.” Feeling a little bit lighter, and a little bit less panicked at the situation with his soulmate, he teases the team, “Don’t let Arana pick the holos.”

As his squad all bicker among themselves over who has better taste, he cleans off his arm. He’s trying to think of something to write when a question appears. _Can you maybe distract me? Tell me about your astromech?_

He laughs, and Kare peeks over at his arm. She rolls her eyes, scoffs and gives him a shove, “She’s asking about BB-8? You two really are made for each other.” 

“Make sure she knows you love that new droid more than you like people, so her expectations are level.” Arana pets the droid in question while he teases its master. 

“Seriously, Commander. You love that droid more than you like your _ship_ ,” Muran chimes in. 

Poe gives a rude gesture to his friends while he describes his BB unit to his soulmate, how he’s trying to choose a color for a custom paint job for it, hoping it makes her feel a little less lonely wherever she is in the galaxy.

They spend the rest of the night talking about droids and ships. Muran and Arana fall asleep at some point, but Kare stays up with Poe, checking on both him and the mysterious scavenger. It’s not a _good_ night, because it starts with something so scary. But they chat easily, and he doesn’t see any more scars appear on his arm. So, he calls it a success. 

That night starts a pattern for them. Any time either of them have injuries too painful for visible marks, they scrawl out a simple “Be with me” on the back of their hand. They spend hours talking about nothing, helping each other through the dark. 

Poe Dameron can count on one hand the number of times over the years that they’ve written those three words to each other. She scrawls it one more time, on another other bad day that he knows nothing about, but begs to take her away from. 

He asks for her only once, hours after screaming at Muran to eject from his fighter, begging into the comms for him to get out. His _be with me_ is barely legible, written through tears as the explosion replays over and over in his mind and he adds Muran’s name to the list of people he’s failed. 

_I’m here. Do you want to tell me about it, or do you want to hear about the flight simulator I fixed up?_ As he stares at her message, he thinks about hope. And family. He prays to the Force, not for the first or final time, that she never be added to that list. 

**xXx**

Things have been chaotic since Exegol. 

After the celebrations, the Resistance and their allies chose to go after remnant First Order sympathizers and start the rebuilding efforts immediately. They had five main goals, post-battle: locate any First Order hotspots and bring those planets some peace, find the home worlds of the Stormtroopers (or, at least figure out _why_ certain individuals were selected), build a temporary government to hold over the galaxy while they built a new government, decide on a version of democracy that would work for the entire galaxy, and find other Force users and Force sensitives and figure out what to do with them.

It was _a lot_ of karking work that Poe Dameron did _not_ sign up to be in charge of. 

So, Poe did what he felt was best, and divided up the responsibility. He remained General of the military, planning and executing the parts of the plan that required some force: arresting slavers, spice runners, and First Order sympathizers. It _pained_ him to have Zorii assist him with the planning, but she really was a great resource. He named Finn in charge of the Stormtrooper efforts, he and Jana weeded through First Order archives and planet-hopped, looking for information. Kaydel was, naturally, put in charge of government organization and planning. Rose and her unfailing commitment to justice was an _excellent_ voice to have in the establishment of a new government. Rey was in command of any and everything Force-related. So far, it seemed her task involved a lot of meditating and a lot of leaving for other worlds without telling anyone. 

This lack of communication proved to be a problem when she got hurt.

He was in his bunk, worrying about his soulmate when he got the message. At first, he ignored his comlink, choosing instead to stare at his arms, begging the Force for words to appear in response to his _Just tell me you're alive, sweetheart. Please._ that he scrawled in a panic earlier. He had a nasty gash - looked like it was from some kind of knife - on his thigh that he _knew_ wasn't from a strategizing meeting; the thought of his soulmate in a knife fight really stressed him out. 

Poe sighs and wipes off his previous note, trying to decide what else he could write to her that would garner a response from his soulmate. They've been talking a lot more since Exegol and her absence paired with the mystery injury was really worrying him. He was just about to scrawl something onto his arm when his comm beeped. Again. 

“What?” He almost felt bad for how short his tone was.

“Thank the Force!” Finn’s voice echoed through his room. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for nearly an hour. Rey’s back. She’s in the MedBay, they put her under. I thought you’d want to know.”

Poe jolted out of his sitting position. “I’ll be at the MedBay in five” was his only response. 

Poe Dameron’s “being half in love with Rey” situation never really improved. He, naively, hoped that once they won at Exegol, once the end was in sight, that his misplaced crush would disappear. 

It hadn’t. He thinks about his mom’s words from all of those years ago, _“Soulmate or not, you’re going to love a lot of people in your life.”_

Rey told them about what happened on Exegol, that she’d actually _died_. Poe _hates_ the karking bastard, but Kylo Ren saved Rey’s life, and he’ll always be grateful to Leia’s son for that. Knowing that she’d died once makes it even harder for him when she disappears unannounced on one of her Force-hunting trips. 

Poe _knows_ that he has to figure his shit out. He’s half in love with Rey, his Jedi/not-a-Jedi friend who was trying to create a new Code and new system for Force users. He can also admit that he’s at least a little bit in love with his stubborn, always there-for-him, capable soulmate. 

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he has a sparkling feeling that all of his girl problems will be solved once he meets this girl. He just needs to get around to actually doing it.

Poe doesn’t know what to expect when he rounds the corner into the MedBay, but it’s not BB-8 frantically pacing, threatening to shock Finn with his taser.

“Woah, buddy! Finn isn’t the bad guy here,” he kneels and pacifies his droid before turning to Finn. “How is she?”

Finn sighs. “She’s fine. Took a nasty hit from a vibroblade and got a little overwhelmed by a bad-intentioned Force user. Kalonia temporarily knocked her out so Rey could rest and reset, or whatever.” 

Poe exhales all of the tension in his shoulders. It’s not _great_ news, but they’ve all survived worse. “Was she able to fly herself here?” He asks, shock in his voice.

“Yeah,” Finn replies with a similar amount of awe. “That girl is something else. She was able to put the coordinates in and _land_ while injured. I never know if I’m annoyed or impressed by her stubbornness.” 

Poe can’t help but laugh at that. “So,” he says after a quiet moment passes between them, “Are we taking turns sitting in there with her?” He nods his chin to the closed door that BB-8 is hovering by. 

“You bet,” Finn replies. Over the course of their friendship, they all settled into a MedBay routine. Poe doesn’t like to think about how often they’ve found themselves here that they have a routine. “I’ll take first shift with her, Poe. Her notes from her unsanctioned mission - including the bastard who cut her - are in Command. You can take a nap, then go look at those before you take the night shift here.” 

Poe Dameron doesn’t deserve to have Finn as a friend. “Okay. Sounds good, Finn. I’ll bring you some food in a bit and keep you up-to-date on any plans we make for avenging our not-a-Jedi.”

“And Poe,” Finn says as he heads into Rey’s room. “You need to do a better job of demanding she tell you where she runs off to, okay? What if we need to save her next time?”

Poe is thinking about that hours later while he sits in the MedBay, BB-8 and D-O both charging in the corner. He’s pulled the chair up as close to Rey’s bed as he can, wanting to use the edge of her mattress as a pillow. It had been a long day, and he basks in the stillness of the MedBay. Rey is the only patient tonight, so it’s blissfully quiet. 

He’d spent the day fighting with Zorii about an Outer Rim mission, looking over Rey’s mission report with Pava, and repeatedly checking his right forearm for a message from his soulmate. She’s been absent since the cut appeared on his leg, and he’s starting to get panicked about her wellbeing.

Poe Dameron can’t have _both_ of them out of commission. It’s not good for his mental health.

In an effort to avoid his spiraling thoughts, Poe lifts his head off of Rey’s bed and looks at the woman laying there. He grabs her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles and taking this opportunity to look at her.

As he looks at her, he startles, realizing that this is the closest he’s ever been to her, the first time he’s seen her without her hair harshly pulled off of his face and without her arm wraps on. He takes note of how _different_ she looks, a warrior without armor. She looks unburdened _._ It’s a good look for her.

He takes advantage of the moment, knowing she could wake up at any moment, and looks down at the hand in his. He looks at the scars on her fingertips that he noticed all those months ago in the _Falcon_ , proof of her love of machinery and of fixing things.

He freezes when he sees the scar between her thumb and index finger on her right hand. Eyes snapping to an identical scar on his hand, a scar left over from when he crashed that speeder into his mom’s tree. A scar that bleeds into a burn mark from an accidental BB-8 shock, a burn that is copied on Rey’s hand. 

Poe feels something _sparkle_ in the back of his mind.

His heart speeds up when he spots the long, raised scar on her bicep. He was cut with a knife while on a classified NRDF mission years ago. He remembers a forearm note that just asked _Alive?_ when he’d gotten that scar. He remembers assuring this faceless friend of his that he was okay. 

It can’t be a coincidence.

He spends a few minutes cataloging the scars on their arms: they _all_ match. Some, he knew the story behind. Some he didn’t. He sees the scars on her wrist from that bad night where he stayed up and talked to her about BB-8. Sees the scars from his wrist where he strained against the binds when he was captured by Kylo Ren. He convinces himself that he can see the remnant smudges from hastily wiped off ink from all of his earlier questioning about whether or not she was okay after the gash appeared on his leg.

A gash that, he realizes, could only come from a vibroblade. He remembers Finn’s voice, _“She’s fine. Took a nasty hit from a vibroblade…”_

Once upon a time, in the spotty shade of her Force tree, Shara Bey told her son that the Force loved him. Sixteen years later, in the cockpit of the _Millennium Falcon_ , a girl from Jakku told him the same thing.

He was never ready to believe them.

The rest of Rey is covered with a blanket, and he can’t see any more scars - or a damning tattoo that would seal the deal. But he feels a glimmer of hope (a rare, dangerous sparkle in his gut) as he hunts for a pen, finding one on a shelf near the bacta patches and antibac. He walks back to the chair painfully slowly, allowing himself to hope.

On the back of his left hand, he draws a careful circle, surrounds it with lines. He holds his breath and looks at Rey’s hand he was previously holding.

Poe Dameron watches in awe as the sun slowly blooms onto her skin. 

Fittingly, Rey wakes up with the sun the next morning. Poe watches her eyelids fluttering open as she adjusts to the light shining through the window.

“Hey sweetheart,” he whispers when she turns her head to him. 

“Sweetheart, huh? That’s new,” she says with a rasp. He gently helps her drink some water before answering her. 

He takes a deep breath and carefully tucks some of her hair behind her ear, running his fingertips over a hairline scar that he thinks is from Kylo Ren. “It’s actually not. Turns out, I’ve been calling you ‘sweetheart’ for years.”

Rey opens her mouth to talk, to question what he means, but Poe gently cuts her off, reaching to gently squeeze her left forearm where it rests on the blanket.

“Rey, watch your arm,” He gently urges while grabbing the pen he tucked behind his ear. 

She’s confused, but abides, and directs her attention to her left arm. He starts to write on his arm and he hears her gasp when letters start to appear. 

She stares at her arm, at the sun he drew the day before, at the words he just scrawled. _Hey, soulmate._

When she meets his eyes, her smile is _brilliant_. “It’s _you_.” 

**xXxXxXx**

Poe Dameron doesn’t have nightmares when he sleeps next to Rey. Not naturally tactile or affectionate, Rey is a _major_ cuddler when she’s asleep. She denies it every time he brings it up, but Poe loves when she nestles into his arms and tucks herself up against him, seeking warmth. 

“Can’t take the desert out of the girl,” he teases her often. 

Poe is genuinely surprised at how _easy_ it’s been to fold Rey into his life. How simple it is to kiss her, to love her. 

Not for the first time, he thinks about how _lucky_ he is. Maybe his mom and Rey were right: maybe he can admit that Force likes him a little.

As Poe slowly wakes up, he expects to have a certain not-a-Jedi curled against him, and is oddly bereft when he finds that he’s alone. It’s not surprising, their schedules are so random and dependent on off-world missions and peacekeeping projects, but he still misses her.

Also not surprising is the note on her pillow. They’ve been communicating with each other through notes and small messages for over a decade; now that they’re together, the tradition continues. Sometimes it’s notes on flimsi left various places, sometimes a message sent to a datapad, sometimes it's scrawled on an arm. He does sit up with surprise at the note’s contents. _There’s something I need to do, I swear it’s not dangerous. See you soon, flyboy. I love you._

Poe pauses for a minute, taking a deep breath and running his hands through his hair. Now that they were together, he thought he’d at least get a heads-up when she was planning on leaving the Base. He allows himself to lay in bed for a few more minutes before grudgingly getting up and facing the day. As he heads to Command, he thinks about what Finn said while Rey was in the MedBay, that they really can’t have her just leaving on a whim. 

When he finally makes it to Command, D-O rolling quietly behind him, Kare greets him with a cup of kaf. She’s alone in Command, having taken the overnight watch. “You know,” she tells him once he’s taken his first sip, “Rey left with your droid this morning. I think BB-8’s loyalty chip needs a reboot.”

Poe takes a second to look around at his feet, only just now realizing that his orange droid wasn’t rolling around his legs with D-O. “Do you have a pen?” He asks Kare while frantically digging through his pockets.

It clearly wasn’t the reaction Kare was expecting. “What does that have to do with _anything_?” Despite her confusion, she helps him look around Command to track one down.

Poe and Rey weren’t actively hiding the fact that they were together - or that they were soulmates - it just hadn’t come up yet. They’ve only been together for two weeks and in that time, Poe had gone on a mission to the Outer Rim, Rey decided to translate the Jedi texts with C-3PO, and they were both in charge of different sectors of this post-war Resistance effort. Any free time they had was dedicated to them spending time together, cuddling, and telling all of the stories promised over the years. 

Kare eventually finds a pen and hands it to him. As he thanks her, Poe strips off his jacket and rolls up the left sleeve of his shirt. Kare already knows that he has a soulmate, so he doesn’t feel the need to explain himself as he scrawls an indignant _SERIOUSLY?_ on his arm. _Where are you?_

Begging his soulmate for her location is a situation Poe is _very_ familiar with and not thrilled to be returning to.

“Your soulmate is _still_ hiding from you?” Kare asks, reading over his shoulder. “She must somehow already know that you’re a human disaster when you aren’t in Command or an X-Wing.”

Poe warms at Kare’s teasing. She’s been quiet without Snap, taking the night shift in Command, refereeing arguments between him and Zorii, and planning the new flight school with Arana. He’s glad for the hints of “old” Kare that peek out every once in a while.

Poe decides to let one of his old friends in on the latest update in his life, “Hey Kare, wanna know a secret?”

She just looks at him with a raised brow as he walks over to one of the computers, dialing Rey’s comlink, waiting for the holographic glow to show up. 

It doesn’t take long, Rey’s image fills up the center table of Command. “Hi Kare, Hi Poe.” It’s not lost on Poe that his greeting was laced with some hesitance. “Look,” she says stubbornly, “I’m sorry about taking BB-8. He rolled up the ramp and stowed away under the Dejarik table and refused to leave. I tried to tell him to stay on Base, but he got his stubbornness from you and insisted on coming with me, even when I told him where we were going.”

“Which is?” Poe asks, taking the opening. 

“Nice try, flyboy.” Rey’s response is playful. Her eyes quickly flick over to Kare before she continues, “If I didn’t respond to this, I’m not going to tell you via hologram.” As she speaks, she lifts her unwrapped left arm, showing off the message he wrote her a few minutes ago. 

Before he even has the chance to say anything, Kare gasps and stands up, walking to the hologram as if to get a closer look. After examining Rey’s image, Kare goes to stand directly in front of Poe and says, matter-of-fact, “Rey is your soulmate.”

Poe, suddenly nervous, runs his hand on the back of his neck, ruffling the too-long curls. “Uh. Yeah.”

It’s a painful few seconds for Poe before a giant smile blooms onto Kare’s face. “Oh, this is perfect! You two are _perfect_ together. How long have you known?” She opens up to look at both Poe and Rey with her question.

“Two weeks,” Rey answers, sheepishly. “He found out while I was recovering from the vibroblade incident. We’re _such_ idiots. All of the signs were there. It should _not_ have taken that long to figure out.”

Kare just _laughs_ , reaching out to hug Poe. He and Rey join in her amusement and also start laughing. Poe basks in this miracle moment, post-war, laughing with his girlfriend (or a hologram of her) and his best friend.

After a few minutes of happy laughter, Kare turns to Rey’s image, suddenly serious. “Hey Rey,” she starts. “Make sure you take care of this one. He’s an idiot with a serious hero complex, but he’s the best guy I know.” 

Poe is so startled at having someone defend him, that he just stands there and stares while Rey gently smiles and says, “He’s been the one constant thing in my life, Kare. I’m not ruining this.”

And, as if to prove her point, they see Rey write something on her arm. Kare shuffles to stand by him and watch the letters bloom onto his arm. 

_Tatooine._

Poe smiles as he reads what she wrote; some sparkling thing settling within him as he finally gets an answer to the question he’s been asking for sixteen years. 

He knows she doesn’t need it. Doesn’t need a rescue, doesn’t need an offer, doesn’t need backup, but he gives it anyway. Can’t keep it in as he looks up at her image and says, “Say the word, sweetheart, and I’m there.”

She smiles back, something loving and gentle. “I know, Poe. I’ve always known.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was largely inspired by a post I saw many years ago on tumblr (and unfortunately can’t track down today). I wrote down the quote, but don’t know the original account: "I have this weird theory that some people are drawn to each other because their atoms were near each other when the universe was created and over time the same atoms keep coming back together."
> 
> I clearly took some liberties here: with time, with the Force, with canon; Star Wars purists, please forgive me.
> 
> If you’re still reading, thank you! I hope that you (and everyone you know) are safe, sane, and healthy.


End file.
